The morning light is warm on Eve's face, stirring her from sleep. She scrunches her face, inhaling deeply and stretching her back, burrowing deeper into her blanket and pillow. There's a leg tangled in hers and an arm tossed over her hip, keeping her close. Robbie's breath ghosts across the back of her neck, slow and even in his sleep, and when she stretches again, his arm tightens and tugs her back against his chest. Eve can't help but smile. As much as he likes to joke that Eve's the clingier one, sometimes he's like an octopus in his sleep, curling around her and not letting her so much as twitch a muscle.

Ordinarily, Eve would wiggle her way around to face him, enjoy the lazy morning in bed with him. Eve doesn't wiggle around, however. No. Instead, she pokes her left hand out from under the covers, fingers extended. The light trickling in through the window shades catches on the rings on her ring finger and her smile grows. Her claddagh ring has been flipped, the heart pointing in, the metal worn and well-loved. The new ring is much shinier, the silver striking in the sunlight. The tiny blue jewel set in the middle sparkles as she twists her hand around.

"What're you doin'?"

The slurred words, heavy with sleep, puff against her shoulder. Robbie shifts as he wakes, his forehead resting against her shoulder now as he stretches, arm tightening around Eve even more. Eve grins, still twisting her hand around to admire the ring.

"Nothing, darling," she whispers. "Why don't you go back to sleep?"

Robbie hums, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, sending vibrations traveling across her skin. His head lifts more, and then there's an amused puff of air as he sees what she's doing.

"Oh, I see," he says, voice still rough and low but still teasing. "I thought you said you didn't care about a ring, that you didn't need one, and yet here you are…"

His fingers brush against her side, under where her tank top has ridden up so that he can catch her warm skin. Eve laughs, swatting his hand away to stop any more tickling, and then she's twisting and wiggling around to face him. Robbie loosens his arm once he realizes what she's doing. When she's finally on her other side, his arm is quick to return, hand sliding up under her tank top to rest against the small of her back.

"Be a doll and get me a coffee while you're at it, yeah? That's a good girl."

The doctor pats Eve's shoulder as he passes her by. She doesn't react. Well, from what Robbie can see, she doesn't react. She's walking away from him, so he can't see her face, can't see if her face twitches or she scowls or if she truly does not react at all. Robbie's sitting up in his cot, and his hands are curled into fists, one strangling his pencil while the other crinkles his letter. He'll have to get a new paper and start again, but that's the furthest thing from his mind at the moment as the doctor walks closer. Annoyance rises up his chest and into his throat, hot and fast, and he's speaking before he's even realized he's made the choice to.

"You know she's a nurse and not a dog, right?"

The doctor slows to a stop, surprise slackening his face as his eyes search for Robbie. His mouth opens, no doubt to try and smooth over Robbie's frustration, but Robbie's not done yet.

"She has a job to do," he continues, still just as pissed off, "and a name. I think she has more important things to be doing than fetching you coffee."

"Alright there, I didn't mean any harm—"

"I think a grown man in a position such as yours is fully capable of getting his own coffee," Robbie snaps, enjoying the way the doctor's jaw clenches. A familiar thrum of adrenaline rushes through his blood. Further down the hallway, Eve is helping a man with something. Can she hear them from down there?

"I think you've made your point," the doctor says, the smooth nonchalant tone gone from his voice now.

"Good," Robbie snaps back, trying to reel his own tone back so he doesn't sound too pissed off. He doesn't want to push this too far. "I think the nurses deserve more respect than that, don't you?"

The doctor flashes a strained smile, mutters something in agreement, and then dips out into the next wing. Robbie watches him go with a glare, exhaling harshly and releasing his pencil and paper only when he's out of sight. Glancing down to the other end of the hallway, disappointment flickers when he doesn't see Eve. She must've left already.

"Damn, Zuss," one of the nearby men rasps out, looking up at him from where he's trying to balance a quarter across his knuckles. "I know you're sweet on the girl, but still. It was just coffee."

"If you've got something to say about my girl, too, then you're next," Robbie says, shooting the man a look. He lifts his hands, palms facing him, and his quarter falls onto his blanket.

"Okay, got it," he mutters. "She's off limits. Ya don't have to bite off my head, I didn't even say nothin'."

Eve's fingers brush by his elbow as she leans around him, her touch electric despite being featherlight. Robbie's breath catches in his throat painfully and his arm jerks, her touch still lingering on his skin though she's no longer touching him. Eve's voice drops, startled, and Robbie closes his eyes, slumping down on himself and already cursing himself for reacting.

"Robbie?" Eve asks, hesitant. "Are you…did I hurt you?"

That's what it looked like, right? It probably looked like he was in pain, jerking away from just a little touch. Robbie's already shaking his head.

"No," he rasps out, eyes still closed. His mouth shuts and his teeth grind together. He should have controlled himself better. It's just Eve, and it's just a touch. But now Eve is going to hyperfixate on this and turn it into a big deal, and that's the last thing Robbie wants.

"Everything's fine, okay?"

His tone is defensive, on the verge of snapping at her. He inhales deeply, trying to calm himself back down before he actually does yell at her. His cot lets out a small creak as it dips, and Robbie opens his eyes to find Eve sitting near the foot of his cot, watching him carefully. No, it's not exactly carefully. More nervous than careful.

"If I'm being too much, let me know," she says quietly, twisting her hands in her lap. "Okay? If you need me to take a step back, I will—"

"No!"

Robbie surges forward, hands grabbing for Eve's. His heart lurches and his fingers shake, the feeling of her skin against his almost overbearing, but the thought of letting go, of her leaving, is excruciating.

"Please don't leave me again."

The words are whispered and hoarse. Robbie's throat swells and he nearly retracts the words, pulls back his hands. Too much, it's too much, and technically Eve didn't leave him in the first place, but he thinks of her gone, of being alone again, and his fingers twitch and shake around Eve's

"I'm not going anywhere, love," Eve says, her voice barely above a whisper but still strong with conviction. Her thumbs brush against the back of his hands and he inhales sharply, and Eve immediately stops, though she doesn't let go.

"Is it the touch?" she asks. "If it's too much, don't push yourself, Robbie, please. I get it, I do."

Robbie can't meet her eyes. Instead, he looks down at their hands in her lap. Eve's hands have always been on the thinner side, fingers long and skinny, but compared to his hands, they look huge. He's practically skin and bones, frail and weak. He watches as Eve's thumb moves again, tracking its motion across his skin, breathing through the sensation.

"Robbie?"

He closes his eyes, breathing in and out as evenly as he can and focusing on the rhythmic motion of Eve's thumb. As she goes, the feeling becomes less electrifying, instead how he remembers it to be — a familiar pressure, a steadying presence.

"It's…I don't know." A harsh sigh punches from Robbie's chest. "I don't know how to explain it."

"You can try?" Eve offers. Both her thumbs are now brushing the back of his hands. He tenses at the soft, gentle way she's touching him, then slowly sinks into it, trying to get himself to relax.

"When I was in the camp," Robbie starts, trying to sort his thoughts and feelings, "it was just…pain. Everything hurt. Nobody helped each other, because they might get hurt, too. Or worse."

The words tangle and get caught in his throat. Before, he would be digging his elbow into Red's side after a quip about his girl to rile him up. Lean into Stiles' space to try and take a peek at his camera. Smack the back of Aiello's helmet or sling an arm across his shoulders to piss him off. Bump shoulders with Eve to get her to smile, hold her hands to keep them warm because she never wore gloves.

The snow is falling thick and fast and the wind is a step below howling. Eve watches through the sliver where their tarp doesn't quite reach the ground, curled up in her foxhole as tight as she can be. She's exhausted, but she can't sleep. Her eyelids have sandbags attached to them, every muscle is aching and sore, and she's practically a popsicle with how cold she is. All she wants is to be sleeping, but her mind won't stop turning and running, thoughts going a mile a minute.

Digging her chin deeper into her blanket, she tries in vain to soak up her own body heat, her boot shifting and nudging against Robbie's. Her eyes flicker over to him but he doesn't stir, still fast asleep. Good. With both of them trying to cover for their lack of medics, it's taken a toll. Even though Robbie's sleeping, Eve can still make out dark bags under his closed eyes, exhaustion clinging to his form. His face is pinched, eyebrows pulled together, and Eve exhales, her warm breath puffing back into her face from where she's lowered it to her blanket.

They need more supplies. They need more ammo, more medical supplies, more medics, more food and winter clothing. They're going to freeze out here. Eve already sent one man off earlier for his feet. He hadn't been changing his socks or walking around, and Eve's pretty sure it's already trench foot. But it's more than just the physical end of things. Between the cold and the constant artillery, the mental strain is becoming more and more obvious. Daniels is the easiest one to see it in, but everyone's feeling the affects. Even Robbie has gotten quieter over the few days they've been here, and helplessness claws at Eve's chest. She's watching everyone shut down around her, and she can't do anything to stop it.

A hitched breath pulls her from her thoughts. Robbie's face has twisted even more, and he gasps. Alarm sparks in Eve's chest and she shoves down her blanket to free her arms, one hand reaching for him. His head jerks and a noise, choked and quiet, sounds from deep in his throat. A nightmare.

"Robbie," Eve hisses. "Wake up." Her fingers wrap around the collar of his coat and give it a shake. She doesn't want to startle him too badly. A few months back a soldier tried to wake up his friend during a nightmare and had ended up with a knife slicing open his forearm.

Robbie's hand darts up, the fabric of his glove scratchy and the tips of his fingers freezing cold as they wrap around her wrist. His eyes fly open as he gasps again, his fingers tightening so much that Eve inhales and whispers his name again, pain lacing her voice.

"Robbie, it's me, it's Eve—!"

Immediately his grip loosens. Her name leaves his lips in a rush of air, and then his fingers shift around her wrist, thumb pressing to her pulse point. Robbie's eyes close again and he just breathes for a moment, his hand shaking as he continues to monitor her pulse. Eve doesn't move, letting him calm down from whatever nightmare he's been torn out of.

"I'm okay, you're okay," Eve whispers. "Just a nightmare, Robbie."

A muscle in Robbie's jaw jumps. "It felt so real," he breathes out. "You were…"

He gives himself a harsh shake of his head, as if dislodging the rest of the nightmare. His hand loosens from her wrist, though he doesn't fully let go, and then his eyes open again, the green bright in the darkness of their foxhole.

Eve isn't hiding.

Of course she's not hiding.

It's just…well, she's just tucked herself into the deepest, darkest corner of the university library. Because it's quiet. And comfortable. There's a slightly lumpy armchair she can curl up in with a circular table next to it that she can rest her books on. She turned on the lamp not long ago, the sun beginning to set in the few windows back in this corner. It's tucked away, and so she is tucked away.

She's not hiding.

She just…wants to be alone, right now.

There's the soft, even cadence of footsteps growing steadily louder through the library, pulling Eve from her storm of thoughts. Her notebook rests in her lap and her hand spins her pencil around, closing around it in a fist as she waits. She knows that it's probably nothing, but she still helps Marie by getting any books she needs from the library for her. Ever since that incident with her ex-boyfriend two months ago, the poor girl's been terrified of the old building. They have a study date set for in a week's time, and hopefully that will start to allieve her anxieties and help her start feeling normal again.

So, even though this person is probably no threat, Eve still grips her pencil and waits, eyes peering through the dim aisles of the library. A figure appears at the end of the aisle in front of Eve, nearly moving on until they turn and spy her tucked away in the corner. They immediately pivot, strides long and purposeful now as they make their way toward her. Eve's already relaxing, pencil back on her notebook and shoulders slumping.

"There you are, angel," Robbie says, grinning as he joins her. There's a pinch in his expression, though, his eyebrows pulling together slightly, and Eve offers him a strained smile, picking up her pencil and stabbing it into the top corner of her notebook paper.

"What are you — oh, shit."

Eve lets out a quiet groan, dropping her head into her left hand and pressing the tips of her fingers into her skin. She was supposed to meet Robbie out front at six. She hasn't been keeping track of time at all.

"Sorry," she mutters, lifting her head again with a grimace. Robbie's sat down in the second arm chair on the other side of the table, poking at her pile of books curiously.

"No problem, angel," he replies, picking a book up before wrinkling his nose at the title and putting it back down. "It's only ten after six, maybe a little more. After five minutes, I thought I'd come up, since you're never late."

Eve hums. It's true.

"I thought maybe you got stuck in another conversation you're too polite to bow out of," Robbie continues, his grin ticking up for a second before dropping. His eyes are still on the books, but his voice quiets, the playfulness gone.

"Or that maybe something was wrong."

A scoff pulls itself from Eve's throat, but it's defensive. She looks away from him, waving her pencil around as if waving any worries away.

"I'm fine," Eve insists. "Clearly. Just…lost track of time."

The tip of the pencil digs back into the notebook. Eve's still not looking at Robbie, but his gaze is heavy on her, making her skin itch.

"Clearly," he says, the sarcasm only misting over the word. "Is that why you're stabbing your notebook to death?"

"I am not—"

Who is she kidding? She most definitely is. Eve purses her lips and drops the pencil. Robbie reaches forward to place his hand on the arm of her chair and she sighs.

"What's wrong, angel?" he asks, and he's using that tone. The tone that tears down any and all walls she tries to put up. So soft and so gentle, she stands no chance.

"We're in a library," Eve tries to argue weakly. "Not the place to have a conversation—"

"Eve, we're practically the only two people in this whole place," Robbie interrupts. "I know because I just walked everywhere lookin' for you. You weren't in your normal spot, you missed our meeting time, you're hiding away in some dark little corner—"

"I am not hiding—"

"—you're upset about something, Evie. Don't shut me out. We've talked about this."

Frustration enters his voice now. Eve falters. They have talked about it a lot, but it's still hard. If she's having a problem, then she'll fix it. No one else needs to know, she'll deal with it and no one will know and it'll be fine. That's how it was for so long, and she still doesn't like involving others, though she's trying. It feels…weak, or like Eve isn't doing enough on her own. She doesn't want to burden Robbie with her problems, and it's been hell trying to break that habit.

Eve slumps against the toilet, one arm crossed over it so she can rest her face on her arm instead of the toilet. It's gross, but Eve doesn't really want to throw up into a trash can or a bucket, so toilet it is. If she thinks about it anymore, she'll just throw up more, and that's the last thing she wants to do right now.

"Okay, angel?"

One of Robbie's hands is rubbing soft circles on her back. The other is holding her back back in a loose, messy ponytail. Eve groans, the sound echoing up from the toilet bowl. There's the muffled sounds of Robbie shifting to make himself more comfortable on the bathroom floor, a short sigh slipping from him.

"Do you think it's over?"

Another pitiful groan. "God, I hope so."

Her stomach lurches and Eve tenses, inhaling sharply, but the nausea passes, thankfully. Good, because there's nothing even left to throw up. Eve's other arm curls under her stomach and she tries to adjust her position, hating how it's impossible to get comfortable with this bump in the way. Not that sitting on the floor and hugging a toilet is ever comfortable, but her point still stands.

"I think it's over," Eve says, but she still doesn't make a move to get up. She's tired, and her body hurts, and she just spent ten minutes throwing up.

"That's good," Robbie replies, relief in his voice. The hand on her back lifts, instead joining his other one to hold her hair, fingers running through the strands. It feels nice, but it's not enough to calm the miserable frustration bubbling up inside Eve.

"I hate this."

Robbie's voice quiets. "I know, angel."

"I really, really hate this."

"Hey, at least it's over now—"

Wrong thing to say. Eve scowls. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one puking your guts out."

She's being unfair and cranky. Robbie's just trying to help.

"Yeah, that's true—"

"This is your fault anyway."

She knows exactly what he's going to say before he even starts speaking. "Well, technically, it's only half my fault—"

"I'm gonna kill you—"

She's not, as it turns out. Instead, her stomach decides to do a somersault, throat flexing painfully as she gags, and then she's dry-heaving back into the toilet. Miserable sobs punctuate this last little bout of vomiting, and Luna whines from her spot near the bathroom door, joining them in their misery.

"Shit, you're okay, Evie, there you go. I'm sorry, angel, no more smartass comments from me."

Eve whines, sounding a lot like Luna. "That's impossible. Everything you say is a smartass comment."

Robbie huffs, apparently relieved she's capable of some kind of weak attempt at humor. Eve closes her eyes as she rests her head on her arm, her other arm still wrapped under her stomach and tightening for a moment. Robbie's fingers are still running through her hair, carefully working through any knots, and Eve tries to sink into that comfort.

"I'm so tired of this," she whispers, sighing as her stomach starts to settle once more. "I thought the throwing up was supposed to be over after the morning sickness ended."

Robbie hums, no verbal response coming from him. He's probably worried about saying the wrong thing and pissing her off again. She does feel bad for snapping at him, it's just these goddamn hormones. She nearly bit his head off the other day, and then she had been crying mess at the shocked, hurt expression that had crossed his face.

"You know the other women were talking to you about foods and smells that made them sick," Robbie finally ventures to say, once it's clear Eve's not going to continue.

"That's not the same, though," Eve argues. "They didn't actually throw up, and it wasn't for everything! I can't keep anything down, and I'm so sick of this. Why is it so much easier for everyone else?"

Her voice breaks at the end of her rant. Something cold and wet nudges against her lower hand. Opening her eyes, Eve finds Luna has made her way over to curl against her side, snout poking at her arm and stomach as she tries to comfort her.

"Evie," Robbie says, her name a soft sigh. He pauses, just playing with her hair as he tries to think of what to say. "We just got to find something that will stay down. Trial and error."

"But we've been trying!" Tears prick at the corners of Eve's eyes. "All we did today was try! I made you change what you were making for dinner three times because my stupid cravings kept changing, and then I still threw up!"

Robbie is torn from his conversation by a familiar weight crashing into his side and leaning on him heavily. He looks down with a grin, chest warming at how Eve clings to him. She's turned away, calling out to Hazel as the other woman beelines it for Daniels, grabbing his hand and yanking him up for a dance. Normally, Robbie would be all for dancing, but this crowded roadhouse is nothing like the dance halls he grew up with, and for the first time in a long time, he's found himself not knowing the steps for whatever dances are popular here. Sure, they'll play something he knows every once in a while, but most of it is whatever the band is playing, usually country.

Eve makes a noise as she looks away from Hazel, spying the glass in Robbie's hands and grabbing for it. He laughs, removing his hand from the top of the glass and making sure she has a firm grip on it before letting it go. His own glass is on the table in front of them, empty now, and Eve is catching up with him fast, draining the last of her drink as she leans on him more. His conversation is forgotten as he angles himself to wrap an arm around Eve's waist, pressing a kiss to her forehead and resting his head against hers, a smile curling his lips at the happy sigh Eve lets out as she puts her now-empty glass back down on the table.

"All good?" Robbie asks, raising his voice over the music and conversations surrounding them. Eve nods her head, the movement clumsy, and then she laughs, tilting her face in closer to Robbie's. Her cheeks are bright red from the alcohol she's consumed, her eyes bright as they dart around the room.

"Hazel heard some girl talking about Red when we were leaving the bathroom," Eve tells him, voice giddy. "I thought—thought she was gonna jump her, Robbie, it was so funny! Of course, Nora was no help at all, tryin' to egg her on…"

She breaks off into a flurry of drunk giggles, pressing her face into Robbie's shoulder.

"Nora?" he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Encouraging violence? I'm shocked."

Eve laughs harder, circling her arms around his waist. His arm curls tighter around her in response. Across the crowded roadhouse, Robbie spots the older woman with Pierson again, in one of the more quieter corners. He can't tell if they're arguing or if Nora's just trying to goad him into a fight, like usual. Nothing seems to delight her more than riling him up.

The band starts a new song, evidently popular by the way the crowd whoops and a surge of people grab partners and rush the open area set aside for dancing. Eve leans back to try and get a glimpse of the band, face scrunching up as she tries to figure out if she knows the song or not. A couple bumps into her as they fly by, the man calling out a "sorry, doll" as he goes, and Eve's face twitches. Robbie's glare in the man's direction dissipates as concern takes over, looking at Eve and pulling her closer.

"You okay?" he asks, and Eve nods her head again, then hesitates.

"Actually, can we go outside?" A burst of laughter from a nearby table has her raising her voice even louder. "I need some air."

"Of course, angel."

Eve's fingers tangle with his as she grabs his hand and takes off in the direction of the exit, navigating through the crowd as fast as she can. Robbie curses as he stumbles after her, suddenly grateful he's only had a few drinks and is just tipsy instead of drunk so he can stay on his feet with her manhandling. Pierson had said something earlier about Eve being fast when drunk, Nora snorting in agreement and Eve squawking about why that mattered. At first, Robbie had thought that meant Eve was one of those people who got drunk and ran off, but no, quite the opposite, actually. She's even clingier than she was during that night back before the Battle of the Bulge, but when she wants to go somewhere?

They're outside in record time, Robbie still not sure exactly how she was able to move that fast while being drunk. Eve squeezes his hand, her head falling back as she inhales deeply, relief crossing her face. It's still warm outside, but not nearly as stuffy as inside the roadhouse. While it wasn't really bothering Robbie, it's a nice break, and more importantly, Eve begins to relax again. Getting comfortable drinking again has been a goal of Eve's for months, and he knows this is big for her. She's been fine drinking while at home or with her family, but out in public? Especially at a crowded, unfamiliar place like this roadhouse while they're visiting Daniels for a reunion of sorts?

"Better, Evie?" Robbie checks in, squeezing her hand back. "Still okay?"

Eve turns to smile at him. "Yep, yeah, still okay. It was just…too many bodies, and too loud, and it was starting to get too hard to breathe, but I'm good, I'm all good, I'm great!"

Another giggle slips out, fondness blooming in Robbie's chest as Eve reaches out to pat his cheek, rocking forward and back on her heels.

"You look really good," she states, and Robbie laughs. "Have I told you that? Because you do. Are you having a good time? I really hope you're having a good time."

Robbie's hand cups her cheek, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. "Yes, angel," he answers with a smile. "I'm having a good time. Just glad you're havin' so much fun with Hazel and Nora."